


come fuck me yourself, coward

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, incredibly short and impulsive, nihilistic big city idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: working out your personal issues < kissing the guy you sort-of-maybe hate in a burger king parking lot off the freeway.loosely inspired by mitski's washing machine heart





	come fuck me yourself, coward

**Author's Note:**

> word count is absolutely not incidental
> 
> can't believe i'm in hell

when he’s lying still on the stone ledge of a semi-abandoned plot of flowers, you get the feeling that he understands. not that he has a complex grasp on the situation; or even that he has any answers to give you. he’s not the solution- it’s doubtful he makes anything better, really- but you look at him and you know that he knows. you’re in a parking lot next to a burger king that you drove to at 3am, together, and he looks like a renaissance painting when he gazes at a dandelion that blows a little in the cool night air. the last natural thing alive for miles.

“ivan.”

there’s a moment of silence before he turns his head towards you, otherwise not moving at all. he’s acting like he’s atlas, hoisting up the earth, when he does.

“what.”

his tone of voice is dry, but you can’t help but be entertained. “you gonna stare at that fuckin’ weed all night, or what?”. ivan rolls his eyes in response.

“it’s not a weed, alfred. it’s a flower. just one that likes to take up a bit more space than it should.” you shrug.

“i don’t think that’s how it works at all, ivan. just admit you like weed.” ivan dangles one of his legs off the ledge in protest.

“you failed biology, so i don’t know why you’re talking.”

_that’s it_ , you think. trying and failing to do it quietly, you dash from where you stand (kicking a can of coke around, of course) and over to him, landing a hit on his shoulder. he doesn’t react. it’s interesting, at least to you, that he’s (apparently) never played sports, but can withstand the punch of an ex-quarterback.

“you got all your notes from that nerdy kid with the laptop and the glasses.” you don’t know if he’s ashamed, but it is the truth.

“fuck you.” you know he only means it a little. it calls for being clever, not defensive.

“fuck me yourself, coward.” you exclaim. he replies with a grunt.

“please, alfred,” it’s cute when his accent comes out like that, maybe. “foreplay first. kiss me.” and though it’s not in your nature to comply, you lower yourself to your haunches and look him straight in the eye.

“i’ll show you what i did learn in biology, you goddamn russkie.”

the fabric of his long coat is soft and downy when you hold him by the collar and plant your lips on his, cold yet getting much hotter.


End file.
